The Matrix: Heir to the One
by The Fire Dancer
Summary: She never wanted to be a hero. She didn’t ask for the burdening weight of responsibility, never craved the path her father took, and always ran from her destiny. Sometimes there is no escaping the legacy you are born into.
1. Apex

A/N: Hey, so you found your way into this fic, huh? :) Well first, just to let you know: Sorry, but this story was written utterly ignoring Matrix Revolutions. Not because I don't respect the the work of the Wachowski bros, but because I... erm... haven't actually seen that movie. ducks from everyone as they proceed to point and laugh at her So I don't even know what happens. Basically this picks up after Reloaded, and goes with the theory that Trinity fell pregnant during the rave/love scene.

Now, let's pretend that Neo, Trinity, Morpheus and all the other Matrix characters have miraculously defied a 17-year aging process (yes, this is yet another daughter-of-The-One story, but I honestly didn't steal this plot from anyone but my muse), and that the war between man and machine still rages... and for God's sake, I don't own the Matrix or any of it's affiliated characters, concepts, or otherwise! Hope you like.

* * *

_There is a legend of the Heir. _

_It is a fleeting tale, a fragment of a memory, that can only be glimpsed briefly before it vanishes deep within the consciousness of our kind. With it, it carries enigmatic and mixed messages: of hope, of despair, but most of all, of triumph. Is it the Heir who is the key to the triumph of Zion, and the future of mankind, against that of the Matrix? Does the Heir's very existence alone rebel against a machined, mechanical world? Is it the Heir who is to carry the legacy of The One? Or is this whisper merely the basis to his very undoing? _

_These myths carry a spark, a glimmer of hope; but so too does the Heir carry a seed of destruction. Destruction of what? Only time – and choice – will tell. What is for certain is that the Heir will have the inevitable ability to bend time and space to their will, both that of this world, and that of the Matrix. For the Heir represents an amalgamation – a fusion – of the reality of this world, and the surreality of the Matrix. This fusion and these powers, of course, the Heir will have gained from her parents._

_In a world struggling desperately on a hook, with lives and freedom at the mercy of machines, any source of hope is eagerly acknowledged and seized, despite potential shortcomings. Whether or not a human child - despite their legacy - has the power to change the course of mankind, believers are yet to prove._

* * *

"And there he stood. Tall, fearless, incredibly compelling. The shadows of the late afternoon sun bounced lazily from his reflective, mirrored glasses. As the gentle wind whipped his dark hair slightly, his gaze wandered downwards, pondering as to what mystery lay behind the words of the Oracle. For the meantime, his presence was the only one remaining in the run-down courtyard. Or... was it?"

"As our hero's gaze rose upwards, his eyes now found themselves staring into dark pools of unfeeling, unyielding hatred. A flock of black crows chose that very moment to scatter in fear, fluttering wildly in all kinds of frenzied directions. Meanwhile two pairs of dark, menacing eyes that harboured a burning pit of evil returned our hero's gaze with an unimaginable malice. It was a face our hero recognised all too well. For he was looking directly into the face of..."

The elder woman gives a theatrical pause, leaving her listeners breathless with suspense and anticipation. Her voice reaches a dramatic crescendo as she leans forward ever so slightly.

"An _agent_!" she exclaims, eyes gleaming.

The youngest children gathered in the front rows give squeals of delighted fear, while the older children murmur excitedly, shuffling forward and waiting eagerly for more. The elder leans back in her chair and gives a half-chuckle, continuing her story with the same melodramatics she seems to have a talent for utilising.

"But this was no ordinary agent, you see. It was Smith. The same agent who had first tried to kill The One! The same agent who The One had destroyed with his own bare hands. And yet, Agent Smith was back from the dead, and this time, he wanted _revenge_!" More squeals follow, as the children beg and plead for the elder to continue.

"The One was calm – for he is fearless in times of chaos. His nemesis, Agent Smith, the most _formidable_ of all agents, drew ever closer, his eyes blazed with fury and vengeance..."

From a distance, far away from the group of enthralled children, but close enough to hear every word of the story, stand two figures. One is the main character of the very story being told; he is draped in a tattered coat, and although he has long since abandoned his adventurous thrill-seeking ways, I can still see the fearless hero in him that so many people have told me about. Although I guess it's only natural for a daughter to admire her father like that, to perceive him as invincible, all powerful.

An amused and nostalgic grin tugs at his lips as he detects the immense exaggeration of his famous encounter with the (many) Agent Smiths. His smile stretches wider as he reads the reactions of the children, who are bouncing around like hyperactive little fleas. Obviously this particular story gets the adrenaline running. They can barely contain their glee.

I stand proudly beside my father, and although I don't usually like to let on, I am just as engrossed in the story as the young children. I mouth the words of the story along with the elder, feeling my eyes glitter with exhilaration.

"...Hundreds!" the woman suddenly cries, a hand clutching at her heart dramatically in a mock faint. "No – _thousands_! Thousands of Agent Smiths, swarming, snarling, spitting, like a pack of bloodthirsty, fire-breathing _wolves_!" Gasps emit from the crowd of children. "And, oh my, Neo – trapped! What was he to do? There was nowhere to go, nothing to do, but _fight_! Fight them all!"

A cheer erupts from the children, and I suddenly look up towards my father, giving him a knowing grin. He raises his eyebrows and returns the grin – this is my favourite part of the story.

"Pow! Down went one. Pow-pow! Fighting like a lion! Bang! Without a fear! His body, curling, coiling and springing like a leopard! Pow! Neo was taking all the agents on single-handedly, like some kind of... fighting God! But there were _so many_ agents, slashing with their claws, roaring, like _dinosaurs_, until finally, his eyes fell upon a..."

The elder trails off suddenly, a clenched fist still hovering in the air, and the children who have been led this far by her story sit frozen. Their shoulders strain from leaning forward, ears thirsty for the next words to come out of the elder's mouth, eyes wracked in suspense. But instead of continuing the story, the next sentence to leave the elder woman's mouth is, "Oh, Neo. Hello." A warm smile spreads across her aged face as she recognises my father.

Murmurs of awe ripple through the crowd of children, as every child scrambles to turn around, craning their necks to get a view of 'the One'. Dad gives a shrug, raising an eyebrow and cocking his head to the side, saying, "Hello, Nokomis. I see you've led your audience on quite a roller-coaster ride. Though it seems to me you story-tellers are stretching the truth more and more every day."

The elder gives a laugh, and there's a twinkle in her eyes as she says, "Stretching the truth? Neo. You know as well as I do, that it is the stories that keep our spirit alive. It is the stories that give the children – and the lives to come – a history, and hope. So would adding a little enhancement here and there really do any harm?"

"I guess not," he replies, giving the elder a grin of his own.

The elder woman's eyes soon fall on me, and she calls out suddenly, "My, my, young Apex! Taller and more beautiful every day... Care to join us?"

I freeze, looking around at the children whose eyes are now round and pleading.

"I'm sure you know these wonderful stories better than I do. You could even take over the story-telling."

I open my mouth to protest, but then I feel my father giving me a slight nudge with his shoulder towards the group. The elder is right of course – I know the stories of my parents' adventures in The Matrix better than anyone... except for my parents themselves. I was born into them. They are my legacy, my heritage. I've been hearing these stories since before I can remember, from my mother, from my father, from their friends and comrades, and from other elders in story-telling sessions much like this. I dream about them.

I even remember when I was a child, I would take over these story-telling times, sitting in the middle of the circle in the centre of attention and proudly recite stories of my father's adventures, my mother's many close encounters with agents, and the escapades of the Nebuchadnezzar. I loved seeing the rapt faces of the other children around me, I loved the attention they fixed upon me. Yeah, being the only daughter of 'the One' and Trinity in a land of millions of fascinated, staring eyes was a great place to be.

Well, that changed.

Once I entered adolescence as an awkward, unmanageable twelve-year-old girl, I quickly learned that who I was isolated me from others my age. Suddenly I was different, an outsider, when I desperately needed to fit in. Being the daughter of Neo abruptly changed from being a gift, to a hindrance. As superficial as that sounds. Some of my peers overexerted themselves trying to become my friend, simply because their families wanted to be looked down favourably by my parents. Others decided I was too fiery, too famous or simply too dissimilar to them to be tolerated, and dedicated their efforts to making my life a living hell. But most just avoided me altogether, either because they were frightened, they didn't know what to make of me, or they just didn't care. Real friends were few and far between.

It didn't help that the more _fanatical_ believers in my father were constantly stalking me, following me around and harassing me, which gave my now-overprotective parents incentive to have various confidants accompany me whenever I strayed from their eyes. And when you're a neurotic pre-teen struggling desperately to fit in with the crowd, bodyguards are a nightmare. When I was a child I was quite used to and even enjoyed it when complete strangers would give me gifts: toys, jewellery, candles and other weird things. Now my parents feared I would be attacked or kidnapped, and were suspicious of _anyone_ who approached me. I was treated like a glass doll, and most of my fellow teens hated me for it.

Now I'm seventeen, and the only things I'm interested in involve mechanics or machines of some sort. Ever since I took apart Dad's com-link when I was seven, only to piece it back together again with no trouble, even managing a modification – I've loved building machinery. Robots, radios, engines, any electrical device really. Years of taunts, indifference and over-friendliness have caused me to turn away from the world of the human race, and into the world of machines. And yes, I do realise the irony of this.

Even now, as I approach the group of animated children, I long to tear away from them and hide in the engineering level of Zion. Because machines don't judge me, appliances don't stalk me, and engines don't have high expectations of me. Machines don't know who my parents are, and they don't pressure me by constantly pointing out, "You are meant for great things, Apex." And most of all, they don't isolate me, they don't make me feel as if I'm an outsider, as if I don't belong.

Even though I _am_ proud of who I am, and who my parents are, there's always that doubt, that niggling thought, that holds me back. What if I – Apex, the daughter of the _One_ – fail? What if I don't have what it takes to do... whatever it is I'm supposed to do? What if I let them all down, and let my parents down? What if I'm not ready?

_I just want to be normal! _My eyes scream to the children as I settle on the worn ground. _I want you to drop your ludicrously high expectations of me, I want people to treat me like everyone else, I want a plain, uneventful, ordinary life. Can't you see I'm just like all of you? Why do you look at me like I'm different, like I'm... a freak? _

* * *

I'm finally able to drag myself away from the story-telling session, and I quickly run to the nearest express elevator, hitting the _E_ button. _E_ for _Engineering Level_. The doors close quickly and I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, some time to myself.

I spend most of my time down here, doing odd jobs, watching the real engineers at work and just poking around all the various machinery. As the doors open with a hiss, and the hot burst of air – mixed with heat and sweat – greets me, I stride forward, eyes darting around in search of something to do. I like it down here – that feeling of hard work, accomplishment, and mystery surrounding the mechanics of most of these machines gives me a strange sense of comfort.

Most of the mechanical operators, repairmen and engineers down here treat me like one of the gang, rather than tip-toeing around me carefully or feeding my ego with flattering stanzas. Actually, the guys down here make a serious point of not inflating my ego just because of who my parents are. And that suits me fine.

A boy one year older than me approaches, blonde hair spiked out of his face, clothes worn and covered in grease, and skin coated in sweat and machine oil. He grins as he recognises me, and calls out, "Hey Little One, what's goin' on?"

I wince at the nickname. I have a variety of them down here, all along the lines of 'Little One', 'The One Junior' or 'Little Neo'. Stuff like that. Sometimes it makes my blood boil, but most times I can laugh it off.

"Tech," I acknowledge, returning the grin. "What's with the skin, grease boy? The grunge look went out years ago."

Tech automatically touches his face with his fingertips, removing some of the layers of dark grease which coats his face. "Must have got that from those air generators," he mumbles absent-mindedly, wiping more oil from his face before continuing. "Hey, got a job for ya."

I fall in step beside him as he leads me down the walkway, the hissing and groaning of machines reverberating around me. "What kind of job?" I ask curiously, raising an eyebrow. Tech says nothing and only gives a lazy shrug, which indicates that he wants it to be a surprise. That, or it's the kind of boring, dirty, undesirable job that nobody else would do. Either way: I'm in.

Tech's the closest to my age down here, being eighteen, so we get along like brother and sister. Tech has the same warped sense of humour, moodiness and fascination with machines that I do. He's my closest friend, but he also happens to be an incredibly bad influence on me, as my father points out repeatedly. He is much given to dangerous and juvenile antics, such as dares to walk across the city's power generator, throwing cherry bombs off the sides of the residential complexes, and building weird and crazy robots and setting them free in crowds, gatherings or at important meetings.

Yeah, that's him. Tech has gotten me in and out of plenty of sticky situations, but I always hang around him because he's different and quirky, exciting to be around. And he understands me.

Now he steers me to the left, leading me through the maze of wires, cords and spare parts that litter the ground. "Tech," I begin, "Just tell me where we're going!"

"Patience, Apex," he says, punching my shoulder lightly. "It's all about patience."

Finally he halts, turning my shoulders to face his right. In front of me stands the massive water supply of Zion, and through the fibreglass of the tank I can see various appliances at work recycling the water. Of all the machines in this level, this is the one I've been told not to touch, under any circumstances.

"Tech!" I exclaim. "Is this one of your stupid dares? Don't be an idiot, we're not supposed to touch this!"

He shakes his head, pointing to one of the many power apparatuses that line that bottom of the tank. "The third power dynamo is jammed," he explains, stepping forward to take a closer look. "We know that one of the excess parts has come loose and fallen inside, but-" he turns to look at me, grinning. "Nobody can reach it. We need someone small to climb in. You, for example."

I start to laugh at their predicament, but eye the apparatus doubtfully. If it's still operational, despite being jammed, I could get electrocuted. I could even become trapped inside along with the excess machine part.

Tech catches my uncertainty and says, "Don't worry, I've cut its power. And I'll help you climb it. If you get stuck, I can reach in and pull you outta there easily."

"Ok..." I answer warily, then my hands grasp the handrails as I begin my ascent. Tech is right behind me, quipping about falling in the tank and being eaten by machines, until I swing my leg down and kick him in the shoulder. Finally we've reached the top of the generator, and Tech leans over to remove a protective metal sheath.

"Jump in, kiddo," he instructs. "I gotcha."

Gripping Tech's arm tightly, I swing my legs inside, then lower myself inside the power dynamo, using an inactive object as a foothold. Tech leans inside to keep a grip on my arm, and calls, "It's on your right, Apex! See? It's jamming the wheel."

I spot an iron bar caught between the wheels of the dynamo, lean over, pluck it free, and toss it up towards Tech.

"Hey, watch it!" Tech gives an irritated groan as it hits his nose, but manages to catch it and throw it outside.

"Ok, now get me out of here!" I demand, trying to use his arm as a vine to climb out. Tech laughs then seizes me underneath my arms, hoisting me effortlessly out of the generator.

"There, wasn't so hard, was it?" he remarks, placing the metal sheath back where it belongs. "Doesn't exactly take _the One_ to do that."

I scowl at him, half because that he's making fun of my father, and half because he's referring to me _as_ my father. "Shut up! Don't call me that!"

"Whatever, kid."

"Don't call me kid either!"

Tech laughs, knowing that he's stirring me up. "Alright, c'mon, let's go piss Cable off. He's trying to weld a whole lotta rusty ship parts into some machine. He's got no idea what he's doing."

I grin, and race Tech to the bottom of the power dynamo. It's times like these I treasure, times when I don't have the burden of living up to my parents, when I can just be like any other kid. When I can just be me.

* * *

Two sharp raps at the door startle Neo and Trinity from their conversation, and both look towards the door expectantly. Assuming it's their daughter, Apex, Neo approaches the door swiftly and unlocks it. It swings open with a rusty creak, only to reveal a tall, bronzed figure neither Neo nor Trinity have seen in some time.

The figure pauses, waiting to see their reaction, then sweeps into their living quarters dramatically. "Surely," he begins, with a glimmer in his eye, "It is not custom to keep guests waiting outside?"

Trinity leaps to her feet, a delighted smile plastered across her face. "Morpheus!" she exclaims, as Neo shakes his hand warmly. "How have you been?"

Morpheus still possesses his strong, imposing demeanour, despite aging. He places his muscled arms behind his back in a respectful gesture, and says, "The question is: _where_ have I been?"

Both Neo and Trinity are well enough acquainted with Morpheus to know that the question is rhetorical, and wait patiently for him to continue, taking their seats again. Trinity gestures for Morpheus to take a seat opposite them, and he obliges.

"I," he begins, "have recently taken the time to travel extensively with _The Hermes _and its crew, and it has come to my attention that a situation has risen up... regarding the Matrix and Zion. A situation I'm afraid, I may have to ask for your assistance with."

Trinity shifts uncomfortably, while Neo speaks up. "What kind of situation?"

Morpheus averts his eyes for a moment, as if mentally rehearsing what he is about to say, before meeting the gaze of Neo. "Difficulties have arisen, problems regarding the people whom entire fleets have been trying to set free, to unplug. The percentage of people unplugged you see, has dropped dramatically, and disturbingly. There have been incidents where the ones we are trying to set free have been tracked down and killed _before_ we can make contact. The situation is perplexing, and alarming. Although at this time, one is not able to pinpoint the direct cause, there are several theories that have been... circulating."

Morpheus folds his arms against his knees. "One is that new programs have been created, and somehow designed to locate and destroy potential targets, thus eliminating them before they can be unplugged."

"Agent programs, perhaps?" Trinity asks uncertainly. "Upgraded ones?"

"One can only speculate. I was witness to an 'eradication' as such aboard _The Hermes_, where one target – a young woman – was somehow traced, abducted and murdered moments before preliminary contact could be made by a crew member."

"So what kind of indication was there that this woman was a target?" Neo questions. "This program – or whatever it is – must be monitoring interest shown from outside the Matrix-"

Morpheus cuts him off, shaking his head. "But that is exactly what we cannot comprehend. When this particular woman was eradicated, no contact had been made at all. There was no way a machine or program could have sensed our interest in her, or her potential as a target."

Contemplative silence engulfs the room, as each former member of the Nebuchadnezzar sits in their own personal space, lost in thought. Finally, Morpheus is the one to break the silence.

"This process is rapid and extraordinarily precise, and if we don't get to the source of this phenomena I fear the situation will progress to epidemic proportions. Entire crops of targets could be lost, which in turn will affect the population and growth of Zion. This brings me to my current appeal."

Morpheus stands, his tall, impressive figure reminiscent of the fearless captain Neo and Trinity know so well. "Neo, Trinity, I ask for your assistance in this matter. Already several captains and I have approached the councillors regarding this issue, and all solutions involve investigation within the Matrix itself. I think both of you, in your time, have proved you are the best, most capable and unsurpassed Special Operatives Zion has to offer. Your aid, old friends, would be as appreciated as it is needed."

Neo and Trinity exchange a glance, and finally Trinity is the one to speak. "Morpheus, believe me, Neo and I do understand the weight and the precariousness of the situation. But do you remember why we withdrew out services for seventeen years in the first place?"

Morpheus nods. He was expecting this. "Your daughter has needed you. I understand that. I understand that you chose to devote every waking moment – since the day she was born – to her. And she has been raised quite well, I might add. But Apex is no longer a child, she is a young woman. She no longer needs her parents for such basic essentials as nourishment, supervision, and protection. It is the potential targets, those at risk who are still trapped within the Matrix, who need you now."

Neo savours these words carefully, and looks to Trinity. "He's right, Apex is no longer fully dependent on us. And this program is something we need to help fight. In the long run, this will end up affecting Zion, which includes Apex."

Trinity is still adamant, shaking her head. "No, we can't leave her alone. She's not safe. She's not ready."

Morpheus chooses that time to interject. "I can arrange accommodation for Apex with Zee and her family. Zee has agreed that should the situation occur, she would be willing to provide Apex with lodgings, food, and protection. Zee is a woman of her word, as you know Trinity. Apex will be safe, I assure you."

Trinity looks uncertainly from Morpheus to Neo, the troubled look of a mother unwilling to desert her only child. Finally she sighs, and says, "Alright. We'll need further details of the task sent to us tonight."

Morpheus smiles, steps forward and places a firm hand on Trinity's shoulder. "That will be arranged. Thank you, Trinity, Neo. I will be in contact."

* * *

I'm guessing it's about five-thirty by the time I leave the engineering level, clutching random radio parts I've scavenged to my chest. In the past I've learned that in order to _not_ be mobbed by cults of 'the One' fans when I'm alone, I have to sprint home as fast as I can. So I take the elevator directly to the residential complex, then sprint west, up three flights of stairs straight to our door, not stopping for anything or anyone.

Already, there are offerings and gifts surrounding our door like pirate treasure. Candles, hand-carved wooden cases, food offerings, blankets... I step around each offering carefully, scoop a piece of fruit up off one of the baskets left behind, and pound at our door furiously. I hate being locked outside, especially when there are weird stalkers or weeping mothers lurking around. I chew my piece of fruit quickly until finally the door swings open, and I dart inside.

"Hi Mom," I say, my words partially distorted through my full mouth.

Mom watches me from the doorway, looking sternly down at the fruit I'm gnawing on. "Apex, don't eat the food they leave. At least not until I've washed it or cooked it. You don't know where it's been, where it's come from or what they've done to it."

I shrug, swallow the last of my fruit, and head to the living room, dropping the machines parts to the floor. I can feel Mom hovering behind me, and I glance over my shoulder. She looks far away, distant, and... worried. Mom's usually pragmatic and tough as steel, so I ask, "What's wrong?"

She snaps out of it, and turns away. "Nothing. We'll talk about it at dinner."

I straighten up, and watch her leave the room. _Talk about what, exactly?_ Now I'm worried, and my mind guiltily replays over the events of the day, wondering if I've done something wrong. _Maybe they want me to stop hanging around with Tech down at the engineering level._

Shrugging it off, I assemble the strewn pieces of equipment on the floor, reaching underneath a chair and pulling out my heavy, tattered toolbox. I settle on the floor among the scattered odds and ends, busily reconstructing this old radio I found. It's only after about ten minutes of work, when I'm well and truly lost in my own world, that I feel another presence lingering in the room.

Dad. He watches over my shoulder as I work, then slowly takes a seat beside me. I look up briefly, but he's not looking at me, he's looking at my hands. I'm not really in the mood for conversation anyway – too occupied with my newly found gizmo – but still, he speaks.

"What're you building there, Apex?" he asks, leaning forward slightly.

I give him a fleeting glance over my shoulder, saying, "Radio. I'm turning it into a two-way. You know, a com-link."

After a moment's pause, Dad slides off the seat and onto the floor beside me. "I thought you'd finished building one of those."

"Yeah I did," I reply distractedly, trying to unscrew a particularly rigid bolt. "But Tech broke it by accident." I use the term 'broke' very loosely. In reality, Tech shattered it to pieces when he fell from an air ventilator with the radio strapped to his arm.

Even with my eyes focused firmly on my task, I can feel my father's frown. "Tech? You still hang around with that kid?" he asks.

_Here we go_. I sigh, turning my head to meet his gaze. "Yeah. He's my best friend, Dad."

Dad narrows his eyes. "Huh, with a friend like him, who needs enemies?" I don't reply, and turn my angry stare back to the floor while Dad continues. "Tech makes you do stupid things, Apex. The pranks, the daring games... you might think that stuff is funny, but it's reckless and dangerous. And it doesn't help that you two are practically joined at the hip. That kid's going to get you into serious trouble one day. Remember the robot incident?"

I can't believe Dad's still mad about that! Now I'm struggling to keep a straight face. Last year, Tech and I built this 'dancing robot' called Squeak, which rolled around, danced, chirped and convulsed like a maniac. We had fits of hysterical laughter whenever we set Squeak loose, and then one day Tech dared me to set Squeak free in the middle of a councillor meeting.

I never turn down dares.

Mom and Dad were mortified, and Tech nearly gave himself a hernia laughing. Even now, I can feel an irresistible grin spreading across my face at the memory.

"It's not funny Apex. I don't think Councillor Tobin found it amusing when the robot jumped into his lap."

That sets me off. Councillor Tobin's petrified face while Squeak gyrated in his lap has got to be the funniest thing I've ever seen, and I dissolve into a fit of giggles, burying my head in my lap.

"Apex!" I look across at Dad, and although he's trying to be serious, I can see the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Hey, at least the robot lightened him up a little," I remark, and eventually Dad grins.

"What are we going to do with you?" he sighs, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Alright Apex, pack it up. Time for dinner."

* * *

Dinner is typical – rice, some sort of meat (tuna tonight), all mixed with vegetables... even though I know it's all genetically modified, I wolf it down, daydreaming as I usually do. Soon fifteen minutes goes by, and I realise Mom and Dad have been completely and utterly silent since they first sat at the table. This, of course, is absolutely unnatural, and finally it clicks within me that something is very, very wrong.

I glance up, narrowing my eyes at them suspiciously. Mom's poking at her food, only taking the occasional mouthful, her mind clearly elsewhere. Not a trace of my sharp, resilient mother here, she just looks like any other weary and anxious woman. Dad's eating okay, but he's totally avoiding my eye. Guilty about something, maybe? I have no way of telling.

They both exchange a glance now and then, a knowing, conspiring look, but neither of them is looking at me. _Oh great, what have I done now? What? _The atmosphere is thick, tense and it's killing me.

Finally I drop my fork, and lean back in my seat. "Alright, are you guys gonna tell me what's wrong?" I ask, frustrated. "What'd I do? Why are you mad?"

Mom lowers her cutlery to her plate also, giving a sigh. I brace myself for a lecture, when she says, "Apex, we're not mad. But there's something your father and I have to tell you."

Dad stops eating as well, looks at Mom through the corner of his eye, and then takes a slow sip from his drink. Looks like Mom's doing the talking.

"We had a visit from Morpheus, earlier today," she begins, folding her arms on the table.

"Morpheus?" I interject, a grin spreading across my face. I have been in awe of the infamous captain Morpheus since I was little, even though he's always drilled it into my head about how 'important' I am. I can't even remember the last time I saw him. "Aw, why didn't he stay? How's he going? What's he been doing all these weeks?"

Dad silences me with a hand, and continues on from Mom. "Morpheus has been busy lately, and he's brought us some... not-so-good news."

I look from Dad to Mom, trying to guess from their faces what this not-so-good news is. _Someone's died!_ is my first thought. But no, they don't seem upset enough for that. Just worried.

"You see, there's been some problems in the Matrix," Mom explains, briefly looking down at her plate, before meeting my gaze again. "And Morpheus needs your father and I to help out. That's all. We'll be leaving with the crew tomorrow."

_Ohhh, is that all? _I breathe a quick sigh of relief. Suddenly my frown returns. "But... I'm coming too, right?"

Mom and Dad exchange a look, and my voice becomes more insistent. "_Right?_"

"Uh... no, no you won't be coming. You'll be staying with Zee and her family until we get back. Zee's agreed to take care of you, and..." Mom trails off, looking at my father again.

My frown deepens, and I look down at my lap. "Oh. Well, how long are you gonna be gone?"

Their uneasy silence answers my question, and I look up, eyes spitting fire. "You don't know?" I exclaim. "What if you're gone for months? What if you don't come back?" This line of interrogation raises a new fear in my mind. "This is something _dangerous_, isn't it? Why did Morpheus suddenly ask for your help out of the blue? What if something happens?"

"Apex, calm down," Dad says gently, "Morpheus just needs our help, that's all. We won't be gone any longer then we have to be. And you can take care of yourself."

"I know, but..." my voice turns from indignant to pleading. "Can't I come anyway? I can help out with ship repairs and stuff."

My parents shake their heads in unison, and my anxiety grows. I can't explain to them that, even though I've been desperate to prove I can cope on my own for some time now, there is no way I could handle one or both of my parents being killed on some crazy reconnaissance mission led by Morpheus. They're all I have. No brothers, no sisters, no aunts, uncles, cousins. It's always just been Mom, Dad and me, and now the chain is being broken. I suddenly realise I don't want to be the one left behind.

I visualise their ship lost in oblivion, and my voice reaches a desperate crescendo. "I don't want you to go! What if something happens to you?"

Dad leans across the table, quietly touching my hand with his. "It won't. There's nothing to be worried about, ok? We've made the decision to go. You know your Mom and I can handle ourselves."

"You haven't done anything like this since before I was born," I grumble. "Someone else should go. You two have probably lost your touch."

In spite of the mood, Dad gives a quick grin. "Gee, thanks."

I don't reply and pull away from him, stabbing my plate with my fork harder than I should.

"Promise you're coming back."

There's another unnerving silence, and I look at my mother pleadingly. "Mom, _promise_."

"Of course we 're coming back," Mom finally says, raising an eyebrow.

My face creases, and I fight the onset of tears coming. "You hesitated," I accuse.

"Apex, stop it," Dad says firmly, "You're making a big deal out of nothing."

Maybe I am. God knows I'm prone to exaggeration – _and_ I've inherited my Mom's temper. Now anger consumes me like a raging inferno: I'm angry with my parents for leaving me, especially when there's a chance they won't be coming back; I'm furious at Morpheus for not being able to handle his own damn mission, and for recruiting my parents when he knows I could be left alone in the world; and most of all I'm angry at myself for being so selfish and immature, for yelling at my parents and not being able to help myself. I decide to take a vow of silence, and keep my irate gaze fixed firmly on the cold contents of my plate.

"Apex," Mom says, "Your father and I will be fine. We've made the decision to go, and we'll be back before you know it. And you'll have fun at Zee's without us hanging around. Go pack your things, we'll have to leave early tomorrow."

There's staunch determination in her voice, and the realisation hits me that this is final. The decision is irreversible, and no amount of arguing, screaming and crying is going to change that. I look from Mom to Dad, blink, then push away from the kitchen table and head straight to my room.

* * *

It's late now, and I'm lying on my side in bed, my mind a churning vortex of emotion. I still don't see why I can't go with them – if this stupid 'mission' thing is as safe as my parents claim it is, why can't I come too? I'd love to be onboard that ship in broadcast depth, helping out the crew...

I hear my door being slid open, and quickly deepen my breathing to make it look like I'm asleep. Luckily I'm facing the wall, and after a few moments of silence I'm convinced I'm alone, until the sudden sagging of my mattress informs me that somebody has just plonked themselves down next to me.

I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder, but no words are spoken. It's Mom. I'd recognise that musky perfume anywhere. I make an effort to ignore her, keeping my eyes shut and my body turned away, but her presence lingers until I finally respond to it. Stirring, I glance backwards at her, and two piercing blue eyes meet my own.

"Apex?" she asks, as if making sure I'm awake, but I know she's just testing the waters. My response will tell her immediately what kind of mood I'm in.

And I'm still angry. So I don't reply, instead narrowing my eyes at her accusingly.

"Don't give me that look," she says almost scoldingly. "What are you so angry about? I thought you'd jump at the chance of being away from your parents for a while."

She's right, of course – she usually is – but the main reason I'm angry is that she won't tell me what kind of assignment it is that she and Dad are 'helping out' with in the first place. _Morpheus just needs a hand with something. Your father and I are just helping him out. It's just a minor task. Blah, blah, blah._ Will somebody give me some credit for reading between the lines here?

I _know_ that this is out of the ordinary, and I _know_ there's some kind of danger my parents are getting involved in – and it involves the Matrix, a place that to my knowledge, they haven't stepped foot (or mind) in for some time. I feel like a seven-year-old, whose parents won't bother telling her what's really going on and resort to communicating via sign language and word-mouthing above her head. Being left out in the dark about this mission is unbelievably annoying, and not only that, its worrying me.

"I hate being left out of things," I reply bitterly, growing even angrier because I'm unable to express my own fears in a remotely-intelligent statement.

Mom nods, but reasons, "I know you do, but Apex, there's practical reasons why you can't come with us."

"No, it's not that," I interrupt fiercely. "You and Dad aren't even telling me what's going on! When I ask you if this mission is dangerous, you don't give me a straight answer. When I ask you what the mission's about, you say, 'Classified information'. When I ask when you'll be back, you don't even reply. You won't tell me anything!"

In the silence that follows, Mom shifts closer to me and places a soothing hand on my head. "There's reason for that too."

"But I tell you everything," I protest, even though that is by no means true. "If you'd just tell me straight out what's going on, I wouldn't be so pissed off." Clearly she's not going to cave in to my pushing, so my tone changes. I ask the fearful question that's been hovering in my mind all night, refusing to leave me in peace.

"_What if you don't come back?_" I try not to let fear tremor in my voice, but it does anyway.

Mom considers this for a minute, and I suddenly realise I've made the mistake of letting my mask drop. Instead of the angry, uncaring teenager throwing a temper tantrum, Mom now sees that I'm simply afraid, and have been using my resentment to hide this.

But it's what she does next that takes me by surprise. She gently wraps her arms around me, cradling me like a doll. I squirm, try to protest, when her lips part and she suddenly sings, "_From the moment I wake up... Before I put on my makeup... I say a little prayer for you..._"

"Mom!" I exclaim in surprise, half-embarrassed. She laughs warmly, which eventually elicits a reluctant grin from me.

When I was a kid, I used to have nightmares, from which I woke up screaming and crying. Mom would come into my room during those times, sweep me into her arms, and sing me back to sleep. Yes, my tough-as-nails, obstinate, steely mother – singing. Of course, she hasn't done this for years, but it's one of those memories that will never fade, and always put a smile on my face.

I was the only one Mom ever sang to. I doubt she ever sung Dad a goodnight tune. She never even seemed to sing along to traditional tunes like 'Happy Birthday'. But I was different. Whenever I was upset or scared or just lonely, she would sing to me, and me only. It was a Mom-and-me thing, something we bonded over, something that made me feel special.

And now she's doing it again, and despite the peculiarity of it, I find my anger is evaporating, my smile growing and my fears forgotten. I even pitch in with a lyric or two.

"_Forever, forever, you'll stay in my heart and I will love you. Forever, and ever, we never will part and I will love you..._"

In this instant of time, nothing else matters but my mother gently stroking my hair, the sparks of hope I'm beginning to feel inside, and the warm feeling of being loved and cared for. I stop caring that tomorrow I may never see her or my father again, I stop worrying about what might happen to me while they're gone. I even forget that I'm the daughter of the couple pivotal to the survival and existence the people of Zion, of our world. I forget that one day, I too am destined to continue a legacy that I want little to do with.

With a dopey grin on my face, I murmur the last lines of the song before my eyelids droop. For a moment I catch a glimpse of my father standing at the doorway, watching us. But soon I'm a baby in my mother's arms again, and slip into sleep.

* * *

A/N: Not all of this is that sappy! I swear! ;) Let me know what you think.


	2. Windows of the worlds

A/N: Reviewers: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!! I really appreciate feedback, you're all fantastic!

Sorry this chapter took so long. I was finishing off my final exams, then I had graduation. As such, I've been hung-over for about a week. By the way, I have taken some poetic licence here, you'll notice references to food (I have no idea what they eat in Zion) and make-up (not sure if the resistance would even bother with this luxury). Anyway, nuff excuses, read on!

* * *

_Midnight. I stand alone, on the rooftop of a skyscraper, the lights of a thriving city flickering vividly with life beneath me. I look down, a strange surge of power pulsing through my veins. I am in control – with the smallest thought, gesture, or wish, I can manipulate this world to my desire. Rules do not apply to me, conventions don't bind me, and this world is literally at my feet. _

_This knowledge has not gone unnoticed by my opponents, however, who lurk within the shadows behind me. I turn around expectantly, and they reveal themselves. Five fighters – one mind. They walk with the poise one can see within soldiers – full of dignity, superiority, powerful and imposing. And suddenly, they call me by a foreign name long forgotten by my ears... _

_"Mr Anderson." _

_I say nothing, merely arching a brow as the first one launches his attack, almost appearing weightless as his body coils and spins through the air. One by one, they attack with an almost admirable vigour, daring and courage. Five attackers, all bearing the signature fighting style of... agents. A mechanical, powerful mode of attack. _

_Yet these fighters are different – I can see a distinctive pattern encoded in their being. Their code is inconsistent with that of an agent, but most certainly not human. In fact, these programs are something I have never encountered before. They are some sort of replica, descendants (if you will) of the original agent programs. Yet much more advanced. Much more formidable. _

_I feel the power swell and rush through my body, and suddenly I'm flying, untouchable, and unbeatable... 'I am the One!' my mind wants to scream as my hands and feet easily meet their targets. 'I am reality and surreality incarnate! There is nothing in this fantasy world that can stop me!' _

_Action unexpectedly freezes. A thin shadow is cast across the ground, and as my eyes follow the shadow to the figure who casts it, my blood runs cold. _

_Apex! My daughter, my only child... she stands silently at the other end of the rooftop, dark hair being whipped by the wind, her face steely and determined, those blue eyes inherited from her mother now flashing with anger. How is it possible that she's here? What does this mean? _

_And suddenly, in a dramatic and ironic role-reversal, I am no longer a part of the action. Now I'm merely a bystander, detached like a viewer watching a movie. I watch the scene that unfolds around me with a helpless subjection, unable to move, unable to fight, unable to speak. This lack of power is something I'm not used to feeling. What is happening? _

_I feel it now – several flashes of silver, spinning swiftly in my direction. Apex suddenly breaks into a sprint, also heading towards me. In insufferably slow movements, I can see what it is my daughter is about to do, yet I am powerless in changing the course in time. _

_With an incalculable speed she hurtles across the rooftop, rapidly closing the gap between us. For a brief moment my mind is awestruck at her speed and grace, her powerful strides. She reaches into the air and effortlessly plucks the first dagger from the air, mid-spin. Defying motion and logic, she tosses that dagger aside and continues her sprint, spinning on one foot and bringing the other crashing across the second dagger's path, deflecting it away while I watch, flabbergasted. Suddenly Apex veers left, and a scream claws its way to my throat as I see she has thrown herself directly into the third silver dagger's route – she's shielding me from it. _

**_No_**_! Not like this! It can't happen like this! She can't do this to me! _

_The dagger slashes brutally into my daughter's chest with a sickening thud, her flesh ripping viciously. Scarlet blood gushes from the wound, spilling onto the ground. As her body hits the floor all oxygen departs my lungs, my soul shatters, the colour drains from my face, and the scream that has been lodged in my throat now explodes in form of my only child's name. Yet to no avail – her tiny body shudders and thrashes, her lungs momentarily struggle for air, then finally she falls motionless. Her eyes are wide and glassy, as her hand slowly reaches across the ground towards me, faltering the moment her young life is drained away. _

_"**APEX!**" _

_An unbelievable, raging, inexpressible wrath swells inside me... _

At this point Neo sits straight up in bed, gasping, wide-eyed and pulse racing. With the vivid images of his daughter being viciously murdered still flashing before his eyes, he hastily tosses the blankets off of him, walking swiftly to Apex's room with an intuitive paternal instinct to ensure her safety.

Sliding her door open, his eyes fall on the figure of his daughter, tangled up in blankets. For a moment Neo fears the worst, until he sees the rhythmic rise and fall of her shoulders as she takes each breath. She's alive – and she's safe. His body sags with relief, and his heart-rate slows down somewhat. But finding himself unable to leave Apex's side, Neo instead pulls an old chair beside her bed, gently places her blanket back over her shoulders, and watches vigilantly as his daughter sleeps.

Sweat still oozes from Neo's pores as his mind replays the events of the nightmare over and over again. The view from the rooftop, the revolutionary agent programs, three spinning daggers, Apex's body falling lifelessly to the ground... The dream was so vivid, so lucid, so real. Neo grits his teeth.

It was _too_ real.

The One knows all too well the significance of dreams such as this. While his regular dreams are always random and pointless, dreams as vivid as this one always hold an omen, a meaning. Neo's mind flickers back to a time seventeen years ago, when he had a similar, vivid and terrifying dream foretelling the death of Trinity. A dream which eventually came true, despite his being able to alter the outcome. _Now it's happening again. And this time it's Apex._

He watches the night's shadows flickering over the curves of his daughter's face, and as always, is reminded of Trinity. The steely toughness blended with haunting beauty, her eyes, and her hair – all of it is indicative of her mother. Apex represents the two women he loves most in the world, combined.

_What does the Matrix have to do with my daughter? _The thought repeats itself over and over again, tormenting Neo with implications far beyond his reach.

_What **doesn't** the Matrix have to do with her?_ another, nastier voice replies.

Desperate and frenzied thoughts, explanations and emotions churn throughout his mind as Neo reaches towards the sleeping form of Apex, gently touching her hair. She stirs, oblivious, and continues sleeping.

_Apex,_ Neo thinks despairingly, _Do you know how precious you are? Do you know how much you mean to us? Do you know how much we love you? How I would give my life to protect you?_

Neo knits his brows, gripping the arm of the chair tightly in anxiety while trying frantically to analyse the contents of his nightmare. How could he prevent this predestined tragedy? How is it possible that Apex – a free-born child, a true human – was able to enter the Matrix in the first place? Why was he incapable of stopping the dagger from piercing her flesh? Why did she sacrifice herself to save him?

Why, why, _why?_

The One stays intuitively by Apex's bedside, while his dream continues to torment him with what is to come. _I swear to God,_ he thinks resolutely, _If any harm comes to you, I will hunt whoever is responsible down to the ends of the earth. _

* * *

I wake up fairly late, partially shaken by the strange dream I had last night. In this dream I was a scrawny five-year-old girl again. I was waiting at Zion's docking bay, Morpheus' ship landed, and I went looking for my parents. Suddenly a crowd surged from nowhere, overwhelming me and sweeping me away from the ship. I was hopelessly lost amongst the chaos, still a child, terrified and screaming my parents' names. Nobody was listening to me, and not a sign of my Mom or Dad could be seen.

At that point I woke up.

This dream rekindles the alarm and anger I was feeling last night, so I roughly toss my blankets aside, march over to my closet, and decide to fight tooth and nail in order to get myself a place in this mission, even if it's only engine repairs. Pulling open my closet door, I yank random articles of clothing free, tossing them carelessly into a single worn bag. I've deliberately left my packing to the last minute, half because I'm lazy, and half because I'm trying to slow my parents down as much as possible.

Satisfied I've packed enough clothes, I seize my bag and stalk into the living room, dumping my bag on a chair. I kneel down, reach under the chair and pull out my trusty toolbox, placing it next to my bag. Suddenly I look down and realise I'm still in my underwear, so I quickly scoop some clothes off the top of the pile and run to the bathroom.

A shower and a clothes change later, and I'm ready. I can smell breakfast cooking and hear the clatter of cutlery and crockery in the kitchen, so I drag my bag and my toolbox that way. Mom and Dad are seated at our tiny table, sipping from clay mugs while waiting patiently for me to sit down and eat. Taking my own seat, I look down at my plate and a pang of guilt hits me. Mom's cooked my absolute favourite – fried potato cakes.

My parents watch carefully as I silently eat my breakfast, savouring each mouthful and trying not to let the guilt show on my face. I should say something, _anything_, but nothing seems right. Finally Mom clears her throat.

"I don't think you'll need your toolbox," she remarks, arching a brow.

I look blankly from my breakfast, to my toolbox, and then at her. She reads from my indifference that I'm not planning on leaving my tools behind, and she drops the subject.

An awkward stillness follows, during which I choose to resurrect my line of reasoning as to why I should come with them. "Morpheus wouldn't mind if I came with you. He likes me. And I could be a deckhand. I could help with the engines."

Dad leans forward, the traces of a sly smile on his face. "You know, when I was seventeen, I would've given anything for my parents to have gone away for an unspecified amount of time."

I grin too, giving a shrug. "I guess." Then I think about it some more. Without Mom and Dad, I can hang with whoever I want without my parents or bodyguards tailing me. I can actually attend gatherings and raves with Maya (Link and Zee's daughter) and Tech, I can meet other teenagers, and just have a good time. I can dance, party, flirt, and go crazy. And for once, I can pretend I'm a normal teenager.

Suddenly, I can't wipe the smile off my face. In my head I busily make a list of all the things I have to do before my parents get back while Mom eyes me with mock suspicion. "Look at her," she says to Dad, grinning, "There's evil glint in her eyes. Now you've gone and put crazy ideas into her head."

Dad holds his hands up in defence, palms forward. "Hey, I was just trying to get that frown off her face! Looks like it worked."

I guess I can never stay mad at my parents for very long. So much for fighting tooth and nail.

* * *

Now the three of us march along outside the residential levels, each one laden with bags and belongings. I think of how we must look like ants carting food back to an ant nest, and I giggle to myself. But as we grow closer and closer to Zee's door, I trail further and further behind. My doubt has returned. How could I be planning all the wild things I had to do behind my parent's back, when they could be injured during this mission, or disappear off the face of the earth, or be killed?

I halt in my tracks, dropping my bags and toolbox to the ground with a loud _thud_. Mom and Dad glance over their shoulders to see what I'm doing, and my face suddenly screws up.

"Promise you're coming back," I say, repeating my plea from the night before.

Dad and Mom exchange a glance, and without a word, they also drop their bags and approach me. I allow them both to enfold me in their arms, knowing that this may be the last time we share a hug as a family. I may never again breathe in the scent of Mom's perfume, or feel Dad's protective arms wrapped around me. I try not to let on that I'm crying, and hide my face in Dad's clothing.

"We promise, Apex. We won't leave you behind."

I don't reply, wrapping my own arms tightly around them both, as if to never let go.

* * *

"The_ Amaunet_ is one of seven of the revolutionary 'Project Shadow' ships constructed two years ago," the ragged dock worker informs the four former members of the Nebuchadnezzar, gesturing towards their ship-to-be in between curious glances at Neo. "As such, this will be her maiden voyage."

Morpheus, Link, Neo and Trinity stand silently atop the steel landing, analytical eyes cast over the new ship.

"I see," Morpheus replies, cool and indifferent. "Would I be correct in assuming maintenance personnel have completed their final inspections prior to our arrival?"

"Sure have, Captain. Just waiting for the green light from you, and you're all set."

Link, Trinity and Neo glance questioningly at their captain, each one noticing the overly-formal question is out of the ordinary, even for Morpheus. And besides his air of sophisticated professionalism, there is a certain feeling of... coldness... which Morpheus seems to be directing through his formal words and towards the dock worker. It is Trinity who detects the distant sadness in his eyes, and realises his reason for this. _This ship isn't the Neb,_ she thinks, feeling a touch of sympathy for her captain. _The Neb was lost. This isn't the same. _

The Nebuchadnezzar isn't the only loss weighing down Morpheus' soul. Five souls, five brave crewmen, have also been lost over the years, each death bringing with it new boundaries of pain and grief. These victims of war are the reason Morpheus no longer recruits young new crew members. The guilt, the sorrow and the anger he harbours over each death can be given no more chances to further intensify.

Now this tiny team of four is all that remains of the great crew of the Neb. Mouse, the goofy kid, and an unbelievable compute whiz. Apoc, the intelligent and shrewd weapons specialist. Switch, whose fiery energy and sharp tongue gave her an admirable fearlessness. Dozer, the compassionate and philosophical medic who carried a fierce loyalty towards his ship. Tank, the lively and quick-witted operator who somehow always found a way to keep everyone's spirits up. Even Cipher. They had all entrusted Morpheus, and as a result their lives were taken away. Morpheus visualises their faces one by one, feeling the anguish beginning to creep from the dark place in his mind where he has imprisoned it. He quickly fights off the tendrils of emotion, and the mask of cold armour returns to its rightful place.

As the worker continues to brief the four on the _Amaunet_, it becomes apparent that this ship will be unlike anything the crew have ever operated. Innovative technology, radical new defences and a completely upgraded mainframe system. Fortunately the workings of this new ship will not completely beyond grasp.

"That ship should be damn near untouchable," the worker was saying, now making his way towards the docked ship. "But I've noticed that your crew is a little... small. The _Amaunet _has a pretty complex guidance system. If two or more of you guys jack into the Matrix, your pilot or your operator's gonna have one hell of a time at the controls. No matter how special the crewmembers may be," he adds, giving Neo a grin which is not returned.

Trinity gives the worker a razor-sharp warning glare, then glances uneasily at Morpheus.

"That is a risk I am willing to take," Morpheus replies composedly. "If this ship is as 'untouchable' as you claim, there should be no problems for our crew."

The worker scratches the back of his head awkwardly, saying, "Sure, sure, whatever you say. Well, you can make your own inspections if you like, then it's all yours."

Link is the first aboard the _Amaunet_, eager to prepare the ship for take-off as soon as possible. Morpheus follows, while Neo and Trinity hover behind. Catching Neo as he gives a long lingering gaze over his shoulder at Zion, Trinity places a hand on his shoulder.

"It was easier this way," she says. "If we let her come to the dock to say goodbye, she would've argued her way onto the ship."

Neo nods quickly, turning around and striding up the walkway. "Yeah, I know. I was just thinking..."

"What?"

Neo gives a half-chuckle to himself, shaking his head. "She would've loved seeing this thing."

Trinity – who has never really understood Apex's fascination with machinery, especially since her own parents have played such a key role in the war _against_ machines – simply smiles softly as the entrance hatch closes.

* * *

It's been two hours and forty minutes since Mom, Dad and Link left for the ship, and I'm sitting on my makeshift bed at Link and Zee's place, watching Maya apply another layer of makeup. Despite these particular circumstances, I have to admit, I do love visiting Zee. Their apartment is like a fantasy world – there's the scent of incense and other exotic fragrances floating around, despite the obvious degeneration of the walls and doorways they are decorated with delicate and beautiful silver trinkets, and you can feel an almost magical atmosphere, lurking in every room. And then there's Zee, who walks around like a goddess, hair tumbling from cornrows to curls, the jingle of bizarre jewellery announcing her every move, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

She's always been like an aunt to me, although technically, we are in no way related. A close friend of Mom's, Zee even used to insist that I call her Aunt Zee, but it never really rubbed off on me. Plain old 'Zee' is so much simpler. She's one of those adults who never seem to age, blessed with grace, charm and beauty.

Her daughter Maya is only a few months younger than me, but she's already stunningly beautiful, with popularity plus and hordes of guys falling at her feet. Maya has the ability to walk into a room and stop all action dead, all due to her sheer charisma. So I'm feeling very unattractive as she sits on her own bed, chatting away and applying sticky bronzing powder to her face. Maya is my closest girl friend, but that's only natural seeing as we've grown up together. The characteristics we share in common pretty much end there.

Maya is gorgeous and magnetic. I consider myself to be fairly plain in looks. Maya has got the knack with the guys. I never know what to say. And the prospect of facing my father is enough to scare off any potential boyfriend. But we're friends, regardless.

I have my soldering iron in my hand (that's a tool, not a hair appliance), and my radio-to-be is sitting in my lap, but all I can think about is how much I shouldn't be here, and how much I want to be on that reconnaissance ship with my parents. Maya notices my silence and my preoccupation with this radio and decides to snap me out of it.

"So, you wanna put some on?" she asks, glancing at me with some sort of make-up wand in her hand.

I frown. "I don't wear that stuff. Doesn't suit me."

"Doesn't suit you, my ass," Maya exclaims, leaning over and pulling me onto her bed. "You just don't know how to apply it, engine girl. I'll do it."

I laugh and pull away, fighting off Maya's make-up applying hand. "Don't!"

"C'mon," she says, leaning back. "Your first night without no lame bodyguards hangin' around is a cause for celebration. You should go all out."

Maya has insisted on throwing a party tonight, and I'm very much dreading socialising. Well, she has a point about the celebration thing, but I'm just not in the mood. There's so much preening and effort that's going into this, when all I want to do is curl up in bed.

I eye Maya's make-up case suspiciously, as if her charcoals are about to attack me. I've never really been a girly-girl, but Maya seems to think she can convince me otherwise. She suddenly launches herself onto me, armed with kohl, charcoals, paints, powders and God knows what else. Ten minutes later my face is completely plastered in the stuff.

"Now take a look," Maya says, tossing me a smooth piece of metal which also serves as an improvised mirror, "I'm gonna scrape you up some clothes. We're about the same size, I think..."

"Aw, man..." I dread looking in the mirror, but I take hold of it anyway, daring a glance in the reflective surface.

And a different Apex is looking back at me. Dark, provocative eyes, silver lids, glossy lips and unruly hair. She's feminine, a young woman, and a far cry from the rough tomboy who hangs around the engineering level. _Whoa. _I've just about entered womanhood, and I didn't even notice.

"What do you think?" Maya asks, inclining her head slightly. She's proud of her handiwork, I can tell, but she's unsure how much I actually like it. "You can wear my black strapless to go with that, but you'll probably end up falling out of it. You could just go with a plain top, you know, and funk it up with jewellery..." she trails off as she studies me carefully, ready to catch a glimpse of any sign I'm disgusted or lying. She knows me well-enough to know I can't lie for crud.

I'm still deciding whether or not I like this new me, when a playful grin eventually spreads across my face. "Just wait till your mom gets a load of this."

* * *

I can feel the beat, the pulsating rhythm – it's throbbing in my ears, through my veins, and all over the rooms of the house. Maya's apartment is gradually filling with teenagers, chatting, laughing, and dancing. I, on the other hand, have been stalling in the kitchen with Zee up to now, deliberately steering clear of the clusters of my peers. First I helped Zee with some baking, then with the clean-up, and now I'm trying to maintain a long conversation with her in my attempt at avoiding socialising.

Unfortunately, Zee knows exactly what I'm doing, and finally halts the conversation, giving me a knowing smile. "Apex, honey, stop wasting that beautiful face on me," she grins, giving me an encouraging wink. "Get out there and talk to _them_."

"But I like talking to you," I insist, nervously reaching up and toying with a lock of hair.

"There's plenty of time to be talkin' to me. Go out and start chatting up some of those boys. Don't be shy, go on."

I reluctantly stand up, and leaving Zee at the kitchen table, I approach the main room to do what I've been dreading all night. Peering from the doorway into the core of the party, I watch as these young adults pulsate with life, with energy, and vitality, oblivious to my presence. A group of girls are pushing all the furniture against a wall to make a dance floor. Two guys are sculling while their friends stand around cheering them on. Maya is just about in the centre of attention, she almost appears to glow in the dim lighting. I grin as she tells a joke, sending the circle of friends around her into fits of laughter. All the girls look gorgeous and carefree, dancing alluringly, or eating delicately. All the guys are charming and witty, teasing the girls with a joke or a look, confidence seeping out of them like anything.

_I don't belong here,_ I think to myself. This is a whole new world altogether, the lively, passionate world of youth. It's as if I have been given a window into this world: I can see into it, I know the ways of it, but I will never really be a part of it. I can almost feel my hands pressed up against the cool glass of my metaphoric window, wanting desperately to be let inside this world, but only being able to watch, isolated. A sense of loss creeps into my heart; I was robbed of my own chance of belonging before I was even born. And then my ears detect that all-too-familiar murmur.

Somebody's noticed me standing here, and the word spreads.

"Hey, isn't that Neo and Trinity's girl?"

"Apex? Yeah... I think so. She looks _different_."

"Yeah, it's her. What's she doin' here?"

"Is Neo around somewhere too?"

"Ha, maybe Trinity's here as well."

"Go talk to her."

"No, _you_ go talk to her!"

I feel warmth creep into my face as my peers all stop whatever they're doing, turn to look at me, and whisper. This is the crucial moment: they're all watching me, expecting me to do something. Feeling their eager eyes bore into my skin, I cringe inside. This is my cue – I have to impress them somehow, I have to do something so incredibly inspiring, exciting and elegant that they will have no doubt that I am the daughter of the One.

So I shuffle awkwardly, cough, then quickly make my way past the dance floor, past their staring eyes, and to the temporary refreshments table, head down.

_Smooth, real smooth,_ I think to myself scornfully, and I mentally face-palm. I snatch a drink from the table, and down it in seconds. Somehow, I will get through this night without embarrassing myself further. I feel a cool hand on my shoulder, and turn to look into Maya's chocolate brown eyes.

"Hey," she greets me, a cheeky smile tugging at her lips. "Nice entrance."

I wince. "Yeah... I need to work on that."

"Well, while you're workin' on it, there are a few people I want you to meet."

I glance behind Maya, and see two guys and one girl all watching me with equal curiosity.

"Hi," I mumble, trying my best to plaster a smile on my face. This night is going to seriously drag.

* * *

After hours of pretending to be normal, trying to chat, flirt and dance, I'm fairly sick of the party and I'm tired of the new me. So when the opportunity arises, I sneak past a tight group of dancers and slip out Zee's front door.

Night has already claimed most of Zion's citizens. No signs of people, although the city still looks very much alive. I totter carefully to the railing opposite the door, and lean against it, sighing. No matter how much I try, how much I deny, or how much I run, people are always going to treat me differently. And it's not just that, they _expect_ things of me. Great things.

The air has grown considerably cooler and still – a welcome change from the pulsing energy inside Zee's apartment – and I relax. Slowly, I allow my body to grow slack, and I lean right against and over the railing, daring myself to look down. I'm hanging by my waist, hands clutching the metal rail tightly. As I drop my head down, I can see past my toes and into the lights of Zion below.

This city is our sanctuary. It is all we have left, our only shelter from the machines as they hunt for us, trying to ensnare every last human in order to destroy the rebellion. Sometimes I understand this war perfectly; I look at those people with plugs in their arms, backs and necks, and I know that that this is what we are fighting against. Imprisonment, ignorance, slavery; the fact that there are millions of other humans who remain mere puppets of the Matrix, trapped and unknowing. My parents have always taught me about this war, they have always emphasised the difference between the freedom of reality and confines of the Matrix, and why we must rebel against it. There are times when this makes total sense to me, when I comprehend only too well why we are fighting a seemingly endless and pointless battle.

What I don't understand is what this fight has to do with me. Well yes, my mother is considered by many as one of the greatest and most skilled Matrix operatives this world has known. And my father, well, he's _the One_, the unofficial leader of thousands of rebels. Believers look to my parents for faith, so I guess it's only natural that they would also perceive their offspring as a symbol of hope. But can't they see I'm no more 'superior' than anyone else?

Picture this: you're standing onstage, in the middle of some kind of performance, the spotlight's on you, and it's your turn to speak. And you _know_ that you have to say something, but alas, you've completely forgotten your lines. So you just stand there nervously, while the audience waits in anticipation, whispering. You know that feeling you get when that happens? Well, that's the feeling I get everyday of my life as I roam Zion. I feel the eyes of believers watching my every move, trying to fathom just how exactly it is I'm going to save them. I know I'm expected to do something to save this city, or to save the millions of humans still enslaved to the Matrix. But I don't know what it is. And unfortunately, the spotlight's on me.

I hear the sharp sound of footsteps clattering across the walkway, alerting me of the fact that somebody's approaching. Assuming that it's more party guests, I quickly hide my face from view, not being in the mood to talk. I try my best to look remote and unfriendly, but in spite of this the sound of footsteps grows louder, and I catch the flicker of a person's shadow in the corner of my eye.

The figure's hand reaches out and traces its way across my bare arm. "Hey," a sinister voice hisses.

I spin around, fists poised to punch, when the figure stumbles away from striking range and across a brightly lit area of the walkway.

"Tech!" I shout, genuinely shocked, and I drop my fists by my sides. "You scared the shit out of me! What the hell are you doing?"

Tech gives me that cocky grin of his, putting his hands to his mouth in an overly-feminine manner, mocking my astonishment. "Shit, it's Apex!" he exclaims, feigning surprise. "And there I was, thinking I was about to score with some incredibly hot stranger."

I take a swipe at him, then a grin creeps onto my face. "Incredibly hot, am I?"

He gives a short embarrassed laugh, then points to my hair and makeup. "What's with all this?"

I touch my face lightly, accidentally smudging some of the powder Maya so diligently applied. "Maya," I explain simply.

"Oh." Tech glances back towards the apartment door, then takes a place beside me on the railing. "What are you doing out here?"

I shrug. "Hiding."

"Thought so. Gettin' down isn't exactly your thing, huh?"

I roll my eyes at him, but can't help giving a smile. "Right. And what are _you_ doing here?"

Tech shifts a little, keeping his eyes focused on the lights below. After a moment's silence, he delicately says, "Cable told me your parents left with that investigation fleet this morning. I've been looking everywhere for you. You weren't home, you weren't down at engineering level, so I figured you'd be staying with Maya." I don't answer, replying instead by nodding slightly, keeping my head bowed.

Cable is Tech's older brother, who spends most of his time working at the docking bays of Zion, or aboard various rescue ships. He actually holds a pretty high rank, and is qualified to command any of the salvage vessels. So naturally, Cable would know immediately if my parents were aboard any of the reconnaissance ships that departed today. I can only imagine the buzz surrounding that.

Tech finally glances at me, watching my face carefully. "You ok?"

I nod again, asking, "What else does Cable know?"

"Well, the details of the mission were kept pretty private. Something about the Matrix, obviously, but Cable's not really sure what. What he does know is that they set off with a fleet of five ships, but only four are bound for broadcast depth, the fifth one is going to be a communications relay. The ship your parents are on is one of the four, the _Amaunet_. Oh hey, you should _see_ that thing!" he suddenly exclaims, eyes gleaming and hands gesturing wildly. "I've never seen a hovercraft so..."

I send him an impatient look, and he trails off sheepishly. "Apex, look, I'm sure they'll be fine," Tech assures me, speaking surprisingly gently for his usually rowdy self. "That ship can handle anything the world can dish, Morpheus seems to know everything about anything, and your dad's the _One_, for cryin' out loud. Chill."

"I know, I know," I reply, my hair flopping to one side of my head as I flex my neck. "I'm worried, that's all. I mean I just can't shake this feeling... well, I – I had this dream and..." Tech narrows his eyes quizzically, in a _what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about?_ look. He waits for me to continue, but I drop the subject. "Forget it. It's not important."

He raises his eyebrows. "It's not?"

I hesitate. "... No."

But it is important, and Tech knows it. Even though he does come across as reckless and brash, Tech can tell when I'm upset, and he knows when not to cross the line. Instead of prying as to how I feel, he falls silent, and quietly touches my shoulder.

"I just don't want anything to happen to them." As soon as that sentence leaves my mouth, I realise my oversight, and a wave of shame rises in my throat. Like me, Tech is a free-born child of two Matrix-born parents. Like me, Tech's parents worked aboard a reconnaissance ship. The difference here is that when Tech was eight, the ship his parents were on went down during a sentinel attack. They were both killed.

_Shit._ I never know what to say when I touch upon this taboo subject, and now is no exception.

So I stammer. "Tech, I – I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

He cuts me off, shaking his head with a sad smile. "You don't have to do that."

I exhale sharply, unsure of what to say next, and scared that if I do speak I'll stutter anyway. So I nod once again and allow the smallest of smiles to cross my face.

"Know what? We should go to the engineering level."

Tech gives me an incredulous stare. "Dressed like that? Won't you break a nail or something?"

"I'll break you!"

He finally gives me that carefree grin once again, pulling away from the railing. "Alright. Let's go."

* * *

This room of steel is not so remarkable – cold, unyielding; the tall authoritative walls are reminiscent of a prison cell, and its only feature is the quadrilateral iron table which stands in the centre.

However, this is the Location; the Matrix-hosted underground meeting place unconsciously decided upon by every rebel force of Zion. It is here that strategies for battle are born, where many a proposal for breaking the rules of Zion commanders has come forward, and negotiations regarding those still imprisoned with the Matrix are conferred. Here all rebels unite, all captains are one; merging to amplify the power they hold against their enemy. These walls know many secrets of Zion's freedom fighters, their ships and their crew.

Here stands four captains, four teams. One goal. Those target to being unplugged are being eliminated at an alarmingly frightening pace, and these crews are searching for answers.

"I still can't understand what motive the machines would have for doing this," one of the younger crewmembers, Kali, states, shaking her head.

Captain Ballad of the _Caduceus_ answers quickly. "By eliminating potential targets, they are slowly starving our city of growth."

"Yes, but at the same time they're reducing their own source of fuel – us. Why would they do that? It doesn't exactly seem like a win-win situation here."

Morpheus answers that, and the whole room falls still to listen to the words that pour from his mouth. "But it is, Kali. Out of the entire population of the Matrix, those who are ready to be unplugged remain a minority. Those whom we would not consider ready to be unplugged stay unharmed, living on within the Matrix, oblivious," he adds, raising his chin slightly for emphasis.

Captain Niobe, who is often ready to challenge Morpheus, either for her own amusement or because she needs to prove his caprices wrong, angles her head towards her former lover, saying, "And, how do you intend to stop this, Morpheus? Zion has only granted us a small fleet until the situation progresses to critical. By that time, the answers may have slipped beyond our reach. We need to act now – how do you propose we start?"

Morpheus returns her gaze confidently, raising a single sly brow. "At the beginning. Where we must always start." He turns his head to fix his eyes on the rest of the fleet, particularly that of his own crew, Neo and Trinity. "We will consult the Oracle."

There is a sudden silence, followed by several gasps of surprise, disbelief or dismay.

"My God Morpheus, this is no time for your pipe dreams. We need to _act,_ not stand around trying to solve riddles!"

"No, he's right, the Oracle must hold the answers."

"And if she doesn't? ... Exactly my point. It's a waste of our time, and there are lives at stake!"

However amid the heated disputing, Neo remains silent, arms crossed behind his back. He knows Morpheus is right: the Oracle is to be consulted if they were going to get any answers, no matter how enigmatic they may be. And he would be the one to do it.

* * *

A/N: You know how the Wachowski bros gave all their characters names for certain reasons? Well, so did I. If you don't really care, skip this, but if you're interested, here are the names of my characters and what they mean:

Apex: The highest point (i.e. of a mountain ); peak or summit.

Tech: As in technology, high-tech, technical. Yep, he's a mechanics whiz. I was real creative on that one! (facepalms)

Nokomis (the storyteller): North American Indian, "Grandmother" or Mother of the Sacred Earth.

The _Hermes _(a random ship): the Greek 'messenger' God who digs winged sandals.

Cable (Tech's bro): Yep, as in _a_ cable. A cord or wire-esque device that transmits electricity. Well, it sounded good at the time!

Maya (Link and Zee's daughter): Indian (Hindu) goddess, name means 'illusion'. Maya is said to create the ignorance of the individual self.

The _Amaunet _(a random ship): Egyptian goddess whose name means 'hidden one' and whose shadow is a symbol of protection.

Kali (random crewmember): Creative/destructive Indian goddess, protector of women.

Ballard (random captain): I think he was off _Reloaded_, but feel free to shoot spitballs at me if I'm wrong.

The _Caduceus_(a random ship): Ballard's ship. Dunno what it means.


	3. Joyride

_Bzzt... BZZZZT... Bzzzzz... _

I rattle the com-link in frustration, raising it higher in the air while standing on my tiptoes in my effort to get a clear signal.

_Bzzzt... ZZZZ... _

"Damn it!" I mutter, bringing the radio back down to eye-level and examining it closely. What did I do wrong? I rehashed its original circuit system, I repaired the damage to the inputs, and even my soldering was spot-on. This thing should be working like a charm.

I hold the mouthpiece of the radio to my lips experimentally, activating it with the press of a button. "Um, hello? Hello...?"

More buzzing ensues, and I groan again, wondering if radio signals are blocked in this area of the city. I've been missing from Zee's place long enough for her to become alarmed, but I've no intention of returning until I can get my radio to work. In my quest I wandered past the residential complexes to an area closer to the docking bay, and now I've found myself in a maze of tunnels and corridors. I guess they're used for worker transit and cargo shipping, but at the moment I haven't encountered a single person here.

I alter the settings of the radio impatiently, setting the frequency lower. This reduces the static somewhat, and I even recognise an English word or two being spoken, but the sound soon fades. I sigh, and suddenly catch the sound of gentle laughter from behind me.

Spinning around, I spy a man I don't recognise – perhaps in his early twenties – standing with his hands slung loosely in his pockets and an odd grin on his face. I don't trust him, and my intuition immediately sets off alarm bells in my head. There's something inherently menacing about this guy, whether it's his twisted smile, his unkempt ash-brown hair which is growing out of a crew cut, or the fact that he seems to have materialised out of nowhere.

I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously, waiting for him to speak.

"Having trouble with your toy, sister?" he asks, and I glare at him as if he just made a lewd remark.

"No," I reply firmly, turning around to walk in the opposite direction. But to my horror he follows me, just at a slower pace.

"Where's your mom and dad?" he questions from behind, and his husky voice suddenly reminds me of the low creaks of a rusty machine.

_My mom and dad? What? _I turn back around slowly, looking him up and down. One of his hands is still in his pocket, and my eyes fix firmly on that pocket as I answer. "None of your business, okay?"

He laughs again, only it's not the pleasant sound that laughter should be. "Ah, the angry guardedness of your mother. I swear, you're a carbon copy of her, Apex."

_Alright, that's it. He obviously knows who _I_ am. _"Who the hell are _you_? And what kind of a word is 'guardedness'?"

The guy gives me a wide grin, ignoring the latter question. "You can call me Talon, sis."

"Talon," I repeat sceptically. "Right. Now stop following me."

I turn my back to him and pick up my pace, but Talon keeps up with me effortlessly. "What, you scared of me?"

I grit my teeth angrily, especially irritated because I really _am_ afraid of him. "No!" I bite back indignantly. "But you're really, _really_ annoying me. Leave me alone!"

"Oh, don't get upset now. I just want to talk."

I glance at Talon through the corner of my eye, noticing that his same hand is still in resting his pocket. I halt in my tracks, facing him and sticking my chin in the air. "Okay," I reply slowly, "Let go of whatever it is you're hiding in your jacket first, _Talon_."

He raises his brows, almost impressed, then leisurely removes the object from within his pocket with exaggerated slowness. It's a dull razor – my heart pace quickens as he holds it up between thumb and forefinger for me to see.

"Relax," Talon laughs, cocking his head to the side. "I've got no intention of harming you, Apex." He casually drops the razor back into his pocket, leaving his hands where I can see them.

"Yeah sure," I mutter. _You just happen to carry a blade around to touch up that shaving stubble, right?_

I eye him cautiously, making sure that I stay out of his striking range as I circle him like a vulture. During my scrutinising, I notice the telltale metal plugs adorning Talon's bare arms and neck.

"You're a Matrix-born," I state.

He answers with a casual, "Mm-hmm. And you're Neo's kid."

I'm too suspicious to answer this – either this man is another fanatical _the One_ follower (in which case I would have to get away from him quickly as possible) or he's just some creep who follows any seventeen-year-old girl around these tunnels (in which case I am in a lot of trouble). Either way my comfort levels have been well-exceeded. My _fight-or-flight_ instinct mentally tosses up between punching Talon out, or just getting the hell out of here. I grip my radio tightly, wondering if I could use it to call for help or even as a weapon.

"So, you're gonna save the world, huh?" he asks sarcastically, and for a moment I forget my fears as my argumentative side comes into play.

"What? Look, just because of who my parents are, doesn't mean I have anything to do with–"

"Actually, that's _exactly_ what it means, sister. You're the next saviour in line, right? It's in your blood."

I clench my fists. I've been in this debate many times before. "No, my Dad's abilities have nothing to do with genetics. If there is a next One, they're going to be discovered inside the Matrix, not here. _And_," I add, pulling the sleeve of my jumper up to expose my arm. "I'm just a regular human. If I can't enter the Matrix, how can I go around 'saving the world'?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find a way," Talon says nonchalantly, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture as I stare crossly at him. This overconfident young man seems to be a strange mixture of sinister looks, an arrogant attitude and peculiar behaviour. But before I can speculate any further, he suddenly clamps a firm hand on my shoulder, almost causing me to jump three metres into the air.

"I'll be seeing _you_," he hisses, grinning in that twisted way once more, and then stalking off in the opposite direction.

It's all I can do to stand there, gaping at Talon's retreating form, not knowing whether I have just made an ally or an enemy.

* * *

As Neo's boots crunch along the frost-coated walkway, he can't help allowing his mind roam back to the many memories formed within this lavish – if simulated – park. The blanket of white snow covering the landscape elicits recollections of roast turkey dinners, Christmas lights, tobogganing, and many failed attempts of building a snowman. An unwitting smile crosses Neo's face as he remembers snowball fights, Christmas carols, ice-skating, and eagerly ripping open the colourful packages huddled beneath the family Christmas tree.

As his gaze wanders, he spies the stalactitical icicles swaying slightly from a bare tree branch in the breeze; and for a brief moment he imagines them clinking together in a melodic tune. But Neo is quick to remind himself that this world – no matter how magical, how beautiful or how creative it may be – is not real. It is an illusion of the mind, a virtual reality, an artificial world. It is what he is fighting against.

And _she_ is around somewhere in this picturesque illusion, Neo is sure of it. The frosted path leads past an abandoned playground, winding through the snow-covered pine trees, until it guides the One to a lake; long since transformed by the season into an ice-skating rink. Shrieks of delight can be heard as children skim across the solid surface of the ice, skates clattering noisily. Neo pauses for a moment, watching the children dart across the ice while clad in snow-gear, when from the corner of his eyes he spots the figure he has been looking for.

Seated on a dull green bench beside the lake, gazing serenely at the ice-skaters, rests the Oracle. The all-knowing; she who sees beyond the restraints of time. She is wrapped tightly in many layers of colourful clothing, the most noticeable of these being the woollen hat that is pulled tightly over her salt-and-pepper hair. Although the Oracle doesn't return Neo's gaze, he is confident that she is aware of his presence.

"You know what I love about this time of year?" she suddenly asks, angling her head faintly to rest her gaze upon Neo.

Neo shakes his head, asking, "What?"

The Oracle gives a broad smile, digging carelessly into her leather handbag and pulling out a red-and-white striped candy cane. "The treats of the season," she answers, and unwraps the colourful sweet almost eagerly. "There's nothing like a candy cane to lift one's spirits. I'd offer you one. But you're not going to eat it."

"You're right," Neo agrees, taking a seat beside the wise elder. "I won't. I don't like them."

The Oracle gives a soft but perceptive smile. "I know."

"And you'll also know why I am here," Neo persists.

For a moment the statement goes unanswered as the Oracle nibbles on her candy, her eyes refocusing on the young skaters. Suddenly she breaks her own silence with, "How's your daughter?"

Neo is clearly startled by the question, and repeats the Oracles words carefully. "My daughter?"

The Oracle arches her brows in an amused expression, saying, "You should know by now that there isn't a lot that gets past me."

Noticing the meeting isn't going in the direction he planned, Neo chooses to bypass the question and abruptly change the subject. "What is happening to the targets? The potentials, who are ready to be set free. What's happening to them?"

"The targets," the Oracle repeats, "those who harbour the potential to realise the truth." She exhales, eliciting a stream of frost, then waves her candy cane in the air like a policeman waving a baton.

"They are being hunted, Neo, they are being eliminated. And this will continue to happen."

"But why?" Neo continues, "Who is doing this? How can we stop them?"

Each question fires off Neo's tongue like bullets, but bounces harmlessly off the Oracle, as she sits in quiet thought.

"They are called the Seekers," she explains, and Neo almost catches a hint of dourness in her voice as she continues. "Programs designed solely to seek those with the potential to realise the truth."

"Agents," Neo says, nodding.

"No," she laughs, the sound unexpected and unwelcome in light of the seriousness of their conversation. "Not Agents. They _are_ uncannily similar to an Agent program, but there are also vast differences. Seekers can occupy many forms, but unlike the Agents, they can imitate any figure they have seen. Their shape adaptation relies only on vision, not on whether or not the subject is hardwired to their system."

"You mean they can... imitate... those that have already been freed as well? Rebels?"

The Oracle looks at Neo, her facial features twisted into an expression of grim insight. "Yes. It is a powerful thing, to be able to mimic one's form."

"Seekers," Neo murmurs, brows knitting together in a frown. "Well, why would just they kill _every_ potential? The Agents always tried to convert potentials to their cause first – before bugging them."

"Looks like these programs have tired of negotiations, Neo. They have been created to bring the Resistance to an end, forever. And I fear their task may come to pass."

From behind the tinted lens of his sunglasses, Neo frowns questioningly at the Oracle. He has never heard her express herself in that way before. _I fear their task may come to pass_. The Oracle never feared, for she always knew. Did that mean this time, she _didn't_ know? That this thread of the future was dangling beyond her reach, invisible? Or was there something else she could see?

"We won't let that happen," Neo states strongly. "_I _won't let that happen."

From the ice-skating rink comes a squawk of outrage, as one little girl is tripped by an older sibling and lands flat on her face. As the brother and sister engage in a hasty chasing game, screeching at each other, the Oracle watches with distant amusement, before saying, "You never answered my question about your daughter."

Neo straightens up defensively as memories of his nightmare come floating back to him. "Apex... she's fine. Almost grown-up."

"Ah yes. On the brink of womanhood. What I would give to be at that stage now." The Oracle's gentle and nostalgic chuckle quickly turns into a darker, graver tone. "And... how have you been sleeping?"

A cold surge of realization flows from Neo's heart and exits via his skin pores. He gets to his feet, towering over the still-seating Oracle as if to scold her. "_What is that supposed to mean?_"

The Oracle is unfazed by his hostile reply, meeting his defensive stare square in the eyes. Neo sighs, and for an instant the calm mask slips as the hopelessness he felt in his dream surfaces.

"Listen kiddo," the Oracle begins as Neo once again takes a seat, "I know a little somethin' about precognition, obviously. Omens, prophecies, foretelling dreams... I've seen it all. And take it from me, there's no sense in denying what you _know_ is to come. If you're standing in front of an oncoming train, do you turn your back and pretend the impact won't happen? If you wake up in a room full of smoke, do you shut your eyes tight, hope for the best, and go back to sleep?"

Neo croaks the answer, his throat fast becoming dry. "No."

"Of course not. When the signs point towards an outcome, when the warnings are present, they call for action, not denial. Instead of refusing to consider the very possibility of that outcome, you should be preparing for it."

"What are you saying?" Neo asks, his voice involuntarily becoming strident. "That there's nothing I can do? Or that I can change what I saw?"

"You know the answer to that," she replies, the arch of her brows suddenly stooping low into an expression of scrutiny.

_Do I?_ A voice in Neo's mind asks. Inwardly, he struggles with the answer, and finally voices the question which has been haunting him for days. "What does the Matrix have to do with my daughter?"

"More than you can ever imagine," is the Oracle's cryptic reply, and judging by the furtive yet difficult to read smile that flickers across her face, Neo guesses he isn't getting any more clarification on the matter, no matter how he persists. It is something that unsettles him greatly.

* * *

Aboard the _Amaunet_, Morpheus and Neo sit attentively in front of the active computer screens, studying the green cascades of codes with obvious concentration. Although none of their crew is presently in the Matrix, there is another reason for their absorption with the Matrix feed. They watch as a potential – a young man who goes by day as Chris O'Keefe, by night as the elusive hacker Loki – walks casually through a shopping centre, smoking a cigarette and clad in black. The crew of the _Amaunet_ have been watching Loki's movements for days, having noticed that this young man is on the very brink of discovering the truth of his 'existence'.

Neo watches as Loki stops outside an ordinary-looking telecommunications outlet, and crushes the cigarette with the heel of his boot. Loki enters the store in confident strides, however instead of showing interest in the software displayed towards the front of the store, he makes his way towards the back storeroom, where the illegal software is deposited.

Morpheus suddenly looks away from the scene, stretches, and flexes his hands until a cracking is heard.

"The Oracle didn't say what a Seeker looks like?"

Neo doesn't take his eyes off the screen as he answers. "All she said was that they can assume a lot of forms. I guess that doesn't help."

The corners of Morpheus' lips parallel the movements of that of his brows, as he gives a slight grin, turning his gaze fully towards the One. "I suppose not. Perhaps a better approach would be to monitor a potential from within the Matrix. That way we could better perceive and intervene should any danger approach."

Neo finally takes his eyes off Loki, thoughtful eyes meeting Morpheus'. "Yeah," Neo assents, the green glow of the screen emphasising the tired lines resting along his face. "We'll do that."

The two are interrupted by the clatter of footsteps on the walkway above, and suddenly the compact form of Trinity appears as she leans down from the metal railing, her torn grey jumper hanging loosely from her arms.

"Morpheus," she calls, "We got a signal coming in from the _Gnosis_. You'd better come up here and listen to this."

Without questioning the female warrior, Neo and Morpheus exchange a glance, then follow Trinity. Swinging up the sturdy iron ladder, the three clamber their way to the cockpit where Link is busy decoding a signal from the Gnosis.

"You guys ought to take a look at this," Link says with barely a glance over his shoulder, fingers clattering away at the control board.

Morpheus takes his seat beside the pilot, activating the communication link with a flick of a switch.

"_This is Captain Ice of the Gnosis, requesting status report. Repeat, requesting status report._"

Morpheus gives a slight frown. The _Gnosis_ is a communications relay craft, designed to transmit reports from this investigation fleet to Zion, and in turn send orders from Zion control to the hovercrafts. However, none of the hovercrafts are due for a status report for weeks. In spite of this peculiarity, Morpheus responds.

"Ice, this is Morpheus. We have identified a target, are currently monitoring. No inside reconnaissance has commenced as of this point."

"_I see. Do you have the name of the target?_"

Link and Morpheus meet each other's gaze, and both narrow their eyes.

"Yes. The name is Loki," Morpheus answers, the suspicion well-hidden but still present.

"_Acknowledged. Disengaging, over._"

The communication is cut off, and Link leans back in his chair, exhaling loudly. "Why the hell did they want to know the target's name?"

Morpheus is still staring at the communication link, as if it will give him the answers. "I don't know," he answers slowly, his eyes distant and wary. "I don't know."

* * *

My parents have been gone so long that my brain has stopped measuring time properly.

I no longer differentiate between days, weeks or even months; now I tend to measure time in terms of chronological major events: Maya's party, meeting Talon, the Liberty Festival, that day Tech and I went nick-knocking on one residential level and left spitfires on people's doorsteps... The boring days when nothing happens just drift pass and disappear from my memory altogether, like wisps of smoke. They aren't important, so my mind doesn't count them.

Whenever I'm not at Zee's or bugging the workers down at the engineering level, I head down to the docks to see if I can try and find Cable. I know that if the investigation fleet my parents are on send Zion any kind of status report, Cable will be one of the first to find out. Hence, every opportunity I get, I sprint down to the docks, hunt Cable down and ask him if there's any news of the _Amaunet_. I've done this a good forty-two times, but still no word.

Today I've decided to stay at Zee's, much to her relief. Maya, Zee and I are eating lunch when suddenly Cas bursts inside, flustered and breathless. Zee is immediately by her sister-in-law's side, leaping forward to catch her, and Maya and I look on as Zee grips Cas by the shoulders telling her to breathe, and breathe again. Finally Cas can speak and her eyes grow clearer; she looks up at Zee with distress written across her face.

"The _Gnosis_ is down," is all Cas says at first, and for a moment I'm terrified that Tech somehow made a mistake and the _Gnosis_ is the ship that my parents, Morpheus and Link are on, not the _Amaunet_.

"What?" Zee's face clearly mirrors my thoughts, but she frowns and says, "Wait, the _Gnosis_? That's the hovercraft Ice was in charge of. What about the others? What about the _Amaunet_?"

"They don't know! That's the worst part, the Gnosis was the fleet's communications and supplies relay. Now that they're down, any contact with the rest of the fleet has been cut."

_Oh Jesus Christ_, I think to myself, trying not to let the panic kick in. _Please let them be okay._

I feel Maya grip my arm, and can sense the terror emitting from her body, the fear for her father's safety.

"Link," Zee murmurs softly, more to herself than anyone else. The apartment is bathed in an unbearable silence, when Zee asks hesitantly, "What about Ice? What about her crew? Were there any survivors?"

Cas glances uncertainly at Maya and I, as if she thinks we're too young to hear what she has to say. At last she settles with speaking in a hushed tone, secretly hoping Maya and I won't hear. "No survivors. It was a Sentinel attack. The Gnosis got away and used the EMP, but in doing so they stranded themselves in a narrow sewer. The whole craft was disabled, they couldn't even send a distress signal." Cas falls into a whisper, "You know, they say that the ship might have been trapped for weeks. Their supplies were gone. Ice and her crew... they froze to death."

"Oh my God," Zee gasps, looking down at her lap. "But, if they were trapped for _that long_, wouldn't some of the other ships have come looking?"

Cas' brows slant in such a way it looks as though she's about to cry. "Yes."

"So if they didn't come looking..."

I don't want to hear any more. I jump up abruptly from the table, pushing past Maya and running out the door.

* * *

As soon as I reach the engineering level, I sprint to the Q-Section, where most of the major power appliances are located. Here I reach one of the thousands of colossal air generators, and launch myself onto the access ladder. I climb higher and higher, until I safely reach the top of the generator. Pulling myself onto the top of the machine, I take a brief look heavenward, then I finally collapse onto my side, curling up into a ball and burying my head in my arms.

_No, no, no. This is not happening._

I grit my teeth, refusing to cry, and deep inside myself I feel flames of anger and hatred swell and inflate, like a rubber balloon. Ghostlike voices float through my mind, and I can't distinguish between remnants of past conversations, and figments of my own imagination.

_The Gnosis is down... _

_Any contact with the rest of the fleet has been cut... _

_Wouldn't some of the other ships have come looking? _

_Unless the others are down as well... _

_Where's your mom and dad, sister? _

_They're gone, they're all gone... _

_Promise you're coming back! Promise! _

_We won't leave you behind... _

My body throws itself into an upright position, and I clutch my head in my hands, clenching my fingers so tightly I can feel the strain on my hair. Shock is a powerful thing – it can take control of your body and mind with equal strength, making you hear things that aren't there and do things you probably shouldn't. When there is even a slight possibility that your family – all that you have ever known, all that you have ever belonged to – have been ripped away from you forever, everything else around you collapses. Love, concern, anger and anguish all become one, and your mind plummets into a vortex of turmoil.

I close my eyes tightly. _Shut up! Just shut up!_ I scream in my mind, until every voice is silenced.

I rock myself back and forth, breathing heavily and willing myself to calm down. I drag myself forward until I'm sitting precariously close to the edge of this air generator. As I swing my legs I catch quick glimpses of what lies below, and for a moment I'm distracted as my eyes wander curiously over the edge of the generator. Beneath this air generator, at a huge six hundred metre drop, lie red hot coals – the fringes of the Earth's core – one of the city's many sources of fuel. If I fall one way, I'll land on the iron bridge that spans the drop and be killed upon impact. If I fall another way, I'll plummet into the scorching hot coals.

I don't know how long I remain on my perch atop this generator, dazed, trapped in some kind of trance. Maybe I've been here five minutes, maybe thirty. All the while I plead and pray with whatever superior being is out there to bring my parents back. I envision the faces of my father, my mother, Morpheus and Link respectively, hoping against hope that they will all be brought safely back home. And Maya and Zee – how must they feel? Did I even _speak_ to Maya before I left, did I offer her support for her own anxiety and fear like a real friend should have? Or did I just flee, running away like I've been doing all my life?

I breathe again, trying to clear my head. Not even the groans and hisses of the machines around me can bring me out of my trance, as I stare, hope and pray.

* * *

Tech comes racing up to me as I'm wandering along the main walkway, waving his arms around and yelling incoherent words. He's so jittery, excited and animated that at first I want to slap the taste out of his mouth for daring to interrupt my reverie with his idiocies. I glare at him as he practically jumps up and down on the spot, trying to tell me something but being too out of breath to do so.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I snap, immediately regretting the harsh tone of my voice but not being able to stop myself. "I'm not in the mood Tech, okay?"

He shakes his head, grabbing me by the shoulders before I can step around him. "No, no listen!" he exclaims. "I can get you to the _Amaunet_!"

I stare at him in stunned silence. "_What_?"

Tech continues, barely pausing for that much-needed breath as the words tumble from his mouth. "Apex, I heard about the _Gnosis_, and I know how you must feel – and I'm really sorry I jumped you like that – but there's not a lot of time so just listen, alright?" I nod weakly, even though the barrage of words is starting to vaguely scare me. "Zion control is sending two salvage and rescue craft after the fleet. The first one, the _Crusader_, is the one that found the Gnosis. The _Crusader_ radioed for backup in order to trace the rest of the fleet, so Zion's sending a second ship. Apex, _my brother is piloting that second ship._ He said that if we're quick, he'll let us aboard for the flight! We can find the ship your parents are on!"

My eyes grow round with incredulity, as I ask, stammering, "Wha... my parents? Cable... is letting me... on his ship?"

"_Yes_," Tech hisses impatiently, and suddenly I'm being hauled by the wrist through the honeycomb of passages in the engineering level. "But we gotta hurry! _Come on_!"

Tech breaks into a run, and I have to sprint to keep up with him. "But Tech – Zee and Maya... I can't just leave, I have to tell them! Why can't we-"

"No time!" Tech cuts me off breathlessly, "The ship's leaving in three minutes!"

_Three minutes?! _

"Tech," I gasp, horrified, "Tell me you're kidding!"

The hasty yank on my arm tells me otherwise. "_Move _it, Apex!"

He's a man of action, Tech. You have to give him that.

Tech and I make a wild beeline for the docks, fuelled by adrenaline and willpower. Feet slamming against the rickety iron walkways, together we burst inside the service elevator and simultaneously launch ourselves towards the control panel, stabbing the correct buttons with our forefingers. The doors slam shut and the elevator makes its painfully slow ascent, as Tech and I gather what little breath and thoughts we have.

Cable's taking us on his rescue ship! I can find the _Amaunet_! I can find my parents, Link, and Morpheus! The darker side of me whispers that I may not be finding them alive, but I quickly stomp the thought away, only concentrating on gathering enough energy to sprint the rest of the way to the docks.

As the doors slide open, Tech and I give synchronized cries of dismay – standing between us and the channel leading down to the docks of Zion, is a mass of people. It's food ration day for the east side, and upon hearing the arrival of the elevator, each member of the throng turns towards the source of the noise and recognises me.

"Oh, shit," Tech murmurs, as the crowd begins to surge towards us in an unbelievably fast, harmonized movement.

"Run!" I yell, shoving Tech forward as a human shield against the advancing crowd.

The living blockade scatters frantically as it is met head-on with a volatile Tech, who throws his arms in front of him, palms forward, using them shove people out of the way. Despite the sheer size and power of the crowd, everybody makes an effort to jump out of Tech's path. I think I speak for everyone in Zion when I say you wouldn't ever want to get in Tech's way when he's in one of these hyperactive, strong-minded moods. Sometimes you can almost see a glint of mad determination in his eyes that you would only ever see in a dangerous, homicidal maniac. That's something people generally don't want to clash with.

"Sorry! S'cuse me!" he barks as people either leap or are pushed out of our way. "In a hurry here! Sorry lady! The One Junior, comin' through! _Part, please_!"

I stifle a wave of giggles at Tech's unruly performance as we duck and weave through the crowd, racing frenziedly down one of the major passageways of Zion's centre. Together we stampede past stunned citizens, past the corridor leading to the Councillor High Court, past an abandoned (and empty) weapons cart, and at long last we reach the vast docks of Zion.

"This way!" Tech seems to know where he's going, and from here he leads me straight to the dispatch zone, ignoring a worker who tries to ask us for some sort of authorisation permits. We run off, paying no attention to the wroker's shouts of annoyance; together Tech and I zigzag through repairmen, deckhands, salvaged cargo and rusty ship parts, until finally, we draw to a halt in front of a small rescue hovercraft.

"This is it," Tech explains, pointing towards the faint print along the side of the salvage vessel.

The _Phoenix_. I squint at the fading print, having no idea what this name means, when Tech gives a shout of greeting to somebody leaning from the entry hatch.

"Tech, Apex!" comes the no-nonsense adult voice I've come to recognise as Cable's. I crane my neck to see Tech's older brother standing above, the traces of a rare smile upon his lips. "Get up here, you delinquents."

Tech gives a yelp of mock outrage, and charges up the access ramp with me in tow. I just grin, giving Cable a grateful, "Thanks for this!", as he leads us inside, the hatch sealing shut with a hiss behind us.

This hovercraft is very different to the major crafts I've seen and been on. Because the _Phoenix _is designed for search, rescue and salvage only, it isn't equipped with monitors displaying Matrix-feed, or insertion chairs for jacking in. I'm guessing most areas of the ship are allocated for medical bays, and while walking along I spy a tiny kitchen/meeting room, a morgue-like storage room, and a few cabins.

I turn my attention to Cable, and I study him from behind as he leads us towards the cockpit for takeoff, he and Tech exchanging the occasional remark. At first glance there's no mistaking these two are brothers – despite an eight-year age difference, Tech and Cable share the same spiky blonde hair, same olive-brown, rough skin, the same grin and the same laugh. But for the most part it seems they couldn't be any more different. Like fire and water, Tech and Cable have their similarities, each of equal importance and value, neither one more or less important. But ultimately, they are each other's polar opposite, destined to stand on opposite ends of the equation forever. Like yin and yang, good and evil (not that one of them is evil).

Cable is hardened and standoffish; pessimistic, analytical and stern. He can be extremely intimidating, but he's always made an effort to be gentle with me, because I'm Tech's best friend, and therefore can be trusted. After the loss of his parents at sixteen, Cable worked incredibly hard to raise Tech, and sometimes I see an old man in his face; the long sad years are etched too early in his eyes. He's careful, diplomatic, always warily testing the waters before taking a swim. Cable frowns upon trivial things like pranks, mischief and dares, and it's a very rare occasion when he actually makes a joke of his own.

Tech, on the other hand, is a smart ass, with quick wits, lovable cynicism, and brash tactlessness. To the outside world, he's a typical self-assured eighteen-year-old, always on his toes, always reckless, feelings and impulses winning over everything. Tech is careless, oblivious of things like consequences, punishment or cost. He lives on adrenaline, he feeds on it – he breathes it. While Cable likes to live life at a cautious, plodding pace, Tech is drawn to the unpredictable ideas of danger and excitement like a moth to the flame. And that's only part of why I'm just about addicted to him.

The three of us reach the cockpit, where the rest of Cable's crew are already seated, ready for departure. Cable tells me his crew is made up of two experienced doctors, one co-pilot/defence specialist, and one repairs woman. The four of them are already seated, and as Cable, Tech and I enter, a young Asian woman glances over her shoulder to give me a curious look. The rest remain facing forward, disciplined and calm, readily awaiting Cable's command.

Cable motions for Tech and I to take the seats alongside the very back wall of the cockpit, far out of reach of the controls and far enough away from the crew as not to annoy anyone. _Smart move,_ I think, noticing Tech's disappointed frown. As we strap ourselves in, Cable takes his place at the head of the ship, and for a moment I feel a twinge of guilt for disappearing on Zee and Maya like this. Then I think of my parents; I visualise the faces of my father and mother. I imagine arriving at their ship just in time to save all their lives, and my guilt is gone. _I am doing the right thing. I'm going to find them._

Activating the link between the _Phoenix_ and Zion control, I listen vaguely as Cable requests permission to leave, and he powers up the ship as the _Phoenix_ is cleared for departure. I brace myself as the engines fire up, and the ship commences the first stages of takeoff. Our surroundings shudder slightly, when suddenly... the power's lost.

The status monitors go blank, and I sit up questioningly, looking around. The rest of the passengers seem to be acquainted with this, each crewmember staring idly at the wall or out the viewing port. _Must just be a regular but minor malfunction._

Cable fires up the engines a second time, and this time the vertical thrusters activate with no problem. I brace myself once more, when yet again, the engines fail.

I hear Tech give a snort beside me, and an irresistible grin creeps across my face as I stretch my neck to look over at Cable.

"Should I get out and push?" I quip, raising an eyebrow as both Tech and I burst into laughter.

Suddenly, the thrusters trigger with such power that Tech and I are thrown backwards from the momentum, slamming hard against the back wall. "Whoa!" Tech exclaims.

The engines fire, the system draws enough power, and the _Phoenix_ lifts effortlessly into the air just like any other hovercraft would. It's Cable's turn to laugh now, giving us both a knowing look over his shoulder. "You guys might wanna hang on." Tech and I do just that, as the hovercraft exits the docks and begins its journey through the preliminary channels outside Zion, speeding recklessly.

After a while Tech nudges me with his elbow, saying, "See? We'll find your parents in no time. And a joyride's always a good thing."

I nod in reply, returning his enthusiastic grin. I'm not sure if this was the wisest course of action, but it certainly feels like a good idea now. I'll have a lot of explaining to do if we find the _Amaunet_ and my parents are fine, and I'll also have to find some way of relaying a message back to Zee and Maya, telling them I'm safe. But none of that matters now, all that matters is that I'm on a quest to find – and if necessary, save – my parents.

_Mom, Dad, I'm coming. I can't wait to see you._

* * *

Thank you so much for your reviews! I really appreciate the feedback and questions. :) Have a cookie.


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